


All is fair in love and war.

by DeadDrabble (MisakillDatMonkey)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Blow Jobs, But only in the fantasy parts, Canon Universe, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Flirting, Gunplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Mentioned Bottomi, POV Alternating, Post-Time Skip, Real modern life has them disgunstingly in love and happy, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Switch Sakuatsu, Swordfighting, Top!Sakusa Kiyoomi, Typical level of SakuAtsu assholery, Violence, homoerotic tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/DeadDrabble
Summary: The five times Kiyoomi and Atsumu got into otherworldly fights and one of the many times they made up for it passionately.Or any other normal day at the museum for MSBY setter and wing spiker Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi who fancy themselves in some homoerotic historical little fantasies.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 192





	All is fair in love and war.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warning: the 5 fantasies depict either angsty relationships or unhealthy ones. Some are more light-hearted and the entire one-shot has a comedic/romantic twist and tone when we get to the modern/canon part but the tags aren't to be taken lightly and the content could be very triggering to some! No major character deaths are depicted, nor implied (trust me, I'm the author and I know no one died in any scenario) and the mentions of blood never get gory. 
> 
> That said, I had a feast writing it, I hope you will have one reading it. Bon appétit!

A glint slashed through the air, metal clashing against metal drowning the click of tongue that escaped Kiyoomi’s mouth. A perfectly good shirt was ruined now, but he didn’t want to give Miya the satisfaction of letting it get to him. If he was clever enough, he wouldn’t live much longer to see it happen, anyway.

That might have been his wishful thinking, though, something Kiyoomi didn’t want to admit. Why was Miya so skillful and why did he feel the urge to grin like the devil through it? Maybe it _was_ getting to Kiyoomi.

Miya went for a lunge, then an appel that startled the raven-haired man enough to derail his thoughts. That wasn’t a grin anymore, Miya's face was split in half by a dangerous smirk and Kiyoomi was losing his footing.

“My, my, didn’t portray your Lordship as the snide type. Thought showin’ me a bit of skin would make my poor head spin?”

It wasn’t a _bit_ of skin, the gash running from Kiyoomi’s shoulder to his sternum left his shirt entirely agape in the most outrageous way, and the silly little taunt made his blood boil.

He lowered his rapier to an octave stance for a moment, inhaling long and hard.

Metaphorical daggers were flying back and forth in their challenging glares in place of their swords, their harsh breathing filling the room, charging the air with a tension that made goosebumps crawl along Kiyoomi’s skin.

Miya was the first one to tease, again, his blade running along his in a slow, deliberate movement… the low rattling ticking Kiyoomi off. He snapped, bounced forward.

 _Corps-à-corps_ had never been Kiyoomi’s favorite technique. Rapiers offered the opportunity to stay far away from your fencing opponent. But Miya had always been his favorite opponent, whether he liked it or not and it was when he hated it the most that he felt compelled to seek that contact.

He wanted to see Miya concede defeat, he wanted to hear his breath catch, to see his glistening throat move around the lump he’d swallow when Kiyoomi would have him at his mercy, he wanted to see the flash of outrage sparkling in his golden eyes.

His left hand locked on Miya’s wrist in an absolutely deceitful manner, warding off his next blow and preventing him from slashing the air between them again. Not that there was much air to say so.

Kiyoomi could feel the smooth muslin of Miya’s shirt brush against his collarbones, and the cold kiss of his blade a hair’s breadth away from the tip of his nose. He didn’t feel cold, though, not with them breathing in the same hot air. 

Miya was no longer smirking.

“Foul play,” he snarled through their crossed swords.

“You undress me in battle and expect me to play fair,” Kiyoomi hissed back, the corner of his lips curling mischievously.

He had him.

Miya’s mouth twitched and he flashed his teeth again, smugly. Kiyoomi’s eyes widened slightly because for sure, he _had_ him cornered, did he not—

Their swords clattered again, and Kiyoomi lost his balance when pushed backward, avoiding by sheer luck the blade swinging past his jawline. 

The air was knocked out of his lungs when he collided with the ground. And he couldn’t breathe any longer when the tip of Miya’s blade pressed against his chin.

He should have had him…

Kiyoomi swallowed painfully, face heating up as he looked at the devil towering over him.

“Forgive my straightforwardness my Lord,” Miya said, bending over him without concern for the way his rapier was now a real threat to his opponent’s life, then he lowered his voice, delighted grin ringing in his words: “but I wish I had undressed you long before that.” 

“Let go off my hand, Miya, or I’m chopping it off,” Kiyoomi can’t be more clear, stressing each word out under a barely audible hiss.

Atsumu chuckles but complies nonetheless.

“Whatever you say, but no one’s whatchin’, Omi.”

He's not calling him Atsumu, anyway. People could hear, people could...

“If you would follow me to the next room, gentlemen, the next exhibit is right on your left.”

“Anyone could be watching!”

“You’re despicable,” Sakusa spat, livid.

“Says the man who didn’t fire,” Atsumu countered heatedly. “What is it, got cold feet, _Ki-yoo-mi_?”

The telltale clicking sound of Sakusa’s cocking his pistol sparked a shiver at the base of Atsumu’s spine. They were standing ten yards apart, as the rules stated so, but they felt like a mile. There could have been a world between them, though, yet Atsumu would never miss the minute changes in Sakusa’s posture.

“Never say that name—”

“Again, yes, I know, darling.” 

Sakusa flinched, his eyes turning black. Atsumu wished he could say he was proud of himself, of being able to push every little button he knew would provok Sakusa, but instead his heart sank a little. 

“I lost the privilege, although I never really understood why.” 

“You know why, Miya,” Sakusa hissed, hand steady on his weapon. 

“And I still think things could have ended differently,” Atsumu countered, his own grip on the handle of the pistol wavering. 

He hated being here. It was fun while it lasted but he hated seeing Sakusa getting so serious, so grave and mostly so _sad_. 

“I never meant for us—”

“Miya, you need to shut your mouth,” Sakusa warned him, through gritted teeth. 

His voice wavered just like Atsumu’s voice had and it was the last straw. The last sign Atsumu needed. His pistol fell to the ground, lost in the wild grass and remnant of fog creeping at his feet. He had always hated that pistol anyway, the pair of them, thought it was a sick twist of fate when they had been chosen as the set used for their only and last duel.

It was such a cold morning, and he missed the warmest embrace. But since he had nothing left to lose, he decided his last walk could be a ten yards long one. He took a step closer.

“I’ll shoot you,” Sakusa warned again, tremor in his voice, uncertainty laced with spite. 

“Shoulda shot me when I turned around,” Atsumu said, raising both hands to eye’s level where Sakusa could see them.

Empty. Yielding.

It wasn’t a long stroll. He found himself facing Sakusa in no time at all, although the distance used to feel like an impassable gap. Sakusa was still aiming for his face. Atsumu didn’t hold any hard feelings anymore, all he was seeing were these dark beautiful eyes. All that mattered was that he could take one last dive in them.

“You should’ve shot first. You were supposed to shoot first!” Sakusa hammered, sounding right out frustrated.

The mouth of his gun pressed against Atsumu’s forehead as he came to a halt.

It wasn’t frustration, he realized. It was _despair_. A surge of hope warmed his bones, bloomed deep in his chest. He second-guessed himself, and never closed his eyes when he eventually said: “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

The pressure against his forehead disappeared, and Atsumu didn’t have time to be washed over by relief that another kind of pressure assaulted him, overwhelming, consuming. They fell into the wild grass entangled on the cold hard ground. But safe and sound.

“Ah, I liked the previous one more. This one’s too melancholic,” Atsumu whines.

But Kiyoomi isn’t fooled by the little smirk playing on his lips, he can see it from the corner of his eyes, and he knows it’s there anyway, because he didn’t imagine the passing brushing of his hand over his ass when Atsumu walked past him.

“I’m going to make you choke on melancholia, Miya. You’re gonna—”

“A very peculiar piece to come, if you would just cross the room over there.”

Pink-tainted saliva coated the asshole’s teeth when he flashed Kiyoomi a sneaky but huge smile. A rivulet of blood was hanging from his dirty mouth, down his chin and his neck. Kiyoomi had to slap himself mentally when he realized he was staring openly at the other man’s chest.

He did right, because Miya’s next punch almost landed. Almost.

Kiyoomi ducked, used the fact that the idiot was pulled by the momentum of his own blow and jabbed his elbow right between his offered shoulder blades.

Miya howled, or he would have if he wasn’t eating the dirt a second later.

It was likely that no one would have heard it, anyway, because the crowd broke into an uproar at that moment. Kiyoomi could have basked in the shouts of encouragement, the wild animalistic power of the crowd, but the only adrenaline he was running on was induced by a single soul, one man.

Said man was currently lying at his feet, disoriented and blinking fast. Kiyoomi decided he didn’t have to give him a break. He still wasn’t over last week’s embarrassing, _humiliating,_ defeat. A brawl after another, an eye for an eye… 

He got on the ground too, straddling Miya’s hips, bracing his fist and aiming perfectly to punch him square in the jaw and finish him off. Miya, as dizzy as he was, still caught his fist mid-air, gargling a bit of blood when he tried to laugh.

He rolled them over, which Kiyoomi only allowed because he was exhausted by the long minutes of fighting.

“Is that all you’ve got? Come on! You’re gonna make it uneven if you give me this win, Omi-kun,” Miya egged him on when he ended up lying under him again, this time with Kiyoomi's back pressed to his chest, an arm around his throat to try and suffocate him.

Only a little, just the right amount of pressure to make him dizzy.

He heard the taunt loud and clear with it whispered behind his ear, and that made him scoff.

“We’re barely tied because you robbed last week’s round.”

Kiyoomi arched off Miya’s body and threw his head back, the sound of his skull connecting with his adversary’s nose satisfying enough to brush the stinging pain away. The pressure around his throat disappeared and he rolled away from Miya to get back up, adopting a defensive stance.

Kiyoomi was like a feline in this arena. Miya scrambled to his feet in turn, wiping blood out of his lips and bracing himself. Damn, if only Kiyoomi could punch his smirk off… the fights would end way sooner.

He dared taunt Kiyoomi too, beckoning him with a finger. A luxury he could only afford again recently, after Kiyoomi had broken his wrist six months ago.

“Bring it, c’mon,” Miya taunted. “C’m’here!”

“You’re awfully eager to get this over with, Miya!” Kiyoomi said, an unimpressed eyebrow quirked high as they started circling around the makeshift bullring.

“Can’t help it, can I? You promised to beat my ass. That would get any sane guy riled—”

Kiyoomi didn’t leave him the time to finish his stupid sentence, pouncing on him to kick him through the barrer. What was the idiot thinking, flirting openly with him in the middle of a crowd. In the middle of dozens of heated, inebriated men. Miya would never learn, it seemed, that what happened between them when they were alone in the dark after a fight was only for them to treasure.

“You’re enjoying this,” Atsumu breathes out for no one but them, as soon as their teammates walk away and it still sounds so loud that it makes Kiyoomi grind his teeth to dust.

“What? When you keep your mouth shut for more than five seconds? Yeah, sounds like I could get off on that.”

The tips of Miya’s fingers skim the inside of his palm.

Kiyoomi suppresses a shiver, closes his hands into tight fists as he takes them out of reach.

“Whatever you say, Omi. Ya like me,” Atsumu sing-songs as he trails away. “Hey, wait for us guys!”

“We don’t have to do this, Atsumu.”

The rumble of water slamming against the structure falling apart around them was deafening. Sakusa’s voice was low, careful, as if he was wary of setting Atsumu off. As if they could do anything about it now.

His cavalry saber gleamed in the dim candlelight. Atsumu had strong feelings when it came to the sweet glow casted over by candles. Sakusa used to whisper to him how it made his golden eyes seem like they were catching on fire right before he’d extinguish them to set ablaze another kind of fire. 

Now it was surrounding them, bringing a menacing orange glow to the atmosphere, mirrored in the waters licking their ankles, soaking their boots, tainting the panels along the walls as well. It felt more like they were about to burst in flames than to drown.

“I think we do. I think we really do,” he answered, a half-crazed expression plastered on his face.

Atsumu tapped the edge of his own saber against Sakusa’s as if to make a point.

“The ship is sinking. You’ve got what you wanted. I think—”

“It’s over when I say it’s over, Omi,” Atsumu shouted before he could finish.

“Look, it was a mistake Atsumu! I made a mistake!” Sakusa said, backing against the side of the stairs.

He was cornered. Atsumu just had to dash for them and run out, he could have locked him in the ship’s hold. But it was never an option...

“A mistake? Being your loyal dog was the mistake!” he snarled.

Atsumu never was the kind to sink with his ship, he was brave and selfless but a ship never would worth going down. His own curse was far worse. The man standing before him, the one everyone was after, that was the man he would go down for. Atsumu had laid his life at his feet, no matter what was to come. _Don’t trust a pirate,_ Sakusa used to say in the dark, long after the candles were consumed.

But Sakusa wasn’t a pirate to him. He was an untamable king, fiercer than the ocean he used to drift on for years.

His blade pushed back Sakusa’s until they were both standing a few centimeters apart. Atsumu’s reflection in the metal was the color of the sunset; the shadow on Sakusa’s face a bloody one. 

“We’re going to die if we stay here,” the pirate breathed out.

“An unpredictable outcome, don’t you think?” Atsumu mocked savagely. 

“I never wanted you to take the fall for me!”

There was resistance, where Atsumu was pushing his saber, Sakusa was trying to push back — a little like they’d always done. Back and forth, back and forth, chasing each other around the vessel deck, around the world and across the seas…

“Please, just go. Leave me here if you want but go,” Sakusa — surprisingly — pleaded.

It made Atsumu want to scream all the more. Somehow Sakusa knew what he’d been thinking, because Sakusa always knew.

“They’ll find me and do what they have to do anyway, so spare yourself,” he went on.

“And you think I wouldn’t fight an army still? Kiyoomi,” Atsumu almost sobbed through his strangled laughter. “Let them come, let them sink. I’m not movin’. If you sink, I—”

Sakusa moved fast, startling Atsumu who braced his saber a little too fast. A sloppy movement that left a harsh graze along Sakusa’s forearm, although he never flinched away. His hand found its way against Atsumu’s jaw, cupping his face like he’d never done before when candles were lit.

“I’m not asking you to sink with me. I never asked you to do that for me.”

Pain flared along Atsumu’s rib cage, his heart clenching.

“But you knew me, you knew I would,” his voice broke.

Sakusa’s thumb wiped a tear off his cheek Atsumu didn’t know had rolled there. He wished the candles would drop in the turmoiled waters and leave them in the dark.

“I hoped you wouldn’t be silly enough to trust—”

“A pirate, I know. But I trusted you with my life and I still do.”

“So dramatic!” Kiyoomi drawls, rolling his eyes.

“I like their style!” Atsumu grins, his shoulder brushing with his teammate’s as he leans toward the painting.

"Shocker! Not everything has to go up in flames, really.”

“How unfair! Sometimes it’s about a good storm, you know!”

He leans back and looks around them, scanning the room, leaning toward Kiyoomi when he’s made sure they're alone enough. Kiyoomi stops him with a preemptive murderous glare.

“That’s what I said, fucking dramatic.”

Atsumu scoffs, not deterred in the least.

“Would you look at that! You know scurvy wasn’t exactly romantic but I was thinking—”

“Whatever you were thinking is going to be a hard _no_ from me, Miya. You can’t associate the words scurvy and romantic in a coherent sentence and hope for me to get on your dick.”

“Fancy seein’ ya again!” 

Miya’s insufferable greeting line was answered by a deft armlock that both sent his gun flying toward the darkness lurking around them and brought him down on one knee.

Kiyoomi was efficient but Miya was a good match and the fist that collided with his floating ribs cut his breath short.

“I don’t. Fancy it,” he croaked out, trying not to sound in pain in front of the seasoned spy when it was literally flaring up his entire flank. “It means I missed the mark.”

He swirled around, trying to hook his leg around Miya, his thigh sliding over his shoulder but the other agent was too fast, pushing himself on his feet before Kiyoomi could drag him down entirely. He was thrown off, had to do a light pirouette to land back on his feet and didn’t even get a second to catch his bearings that he was already sent flying.

“And you’re gonna miss it again,” Miya told him unapologetically, as Kiyoomi struggled to stay up.

It quickly became obvious he wouldn’t be able to, and he decided to turn it to his advantage. 

Kiyoomi landed on his back on the nearest console, a treacherous groan escaping his lips. Whatever lever he had landed on, it was digging in his back and Miya seemed to be excruciatingly proud of himself. So be it, his pride would be his downfall. 

Kiyoomi hands slipped behind his back, supposedly to push himself off the console, but it was back at Miya’s throat in a flash, carrying a small combat knife that dug just under his chin.

“Careful there, trouble,” Miya gasped, eyes going wide. 

The nickname sparked fury inside Kiyoomi, or so was what he told himself to justify the heat spreading across his nose and cheekbones.

The moment of surprise was all he’d been hoping for anyway and Miya backed off enough to give him the room to juggle with the knife and get back on his feet.

The other agent countered his attacks with as much precision as Kiyoomi manipulated the sharp blade in the air. It was like dancing really, just a little more lethal, a lot more exciting.

He backed Miya successfully into the far end of the room, right against the bay window that was overlooking the French garden in front of the manor.

It would be in ruins by dawn if the aircrafts were on their way just as planned. Kiyoomi intended to clear the mission well before then. It wasn’t his fault if Miya was after the same documents, and it wasn’t his fault if he was more adept with a blade than the competition.

“Why did you miss last time, then?” Miya asked, ever so arrogant.

“What do you mean _why_?” Kiyoomi snarled, the blade sinking in the padded flank of the other agent’s gear.

Miya's eyes trailed down toward the failed attempt.

“You don’t miss on purpose, do you now, trouble?” 

Kiyoomi froze, for an infinitesimal second. The knife switched owner just as fast.

But instead of attacking, Miya simply threw it back, letting it sink into the panel of an old bookshelf. He leaned into Kiyoomi’s space, so close that his smirk couldn’t be seen by the man anymore.

“Don’t hold it against me, will ya? Had to take your toy away, since we both know you’re a little better than me. What is it they say? All is fair in love and war, trouble.”

Kiyoomi slams Atsumu against the wall. It carries a strong impression of deja vu neither of them care to think about.

“You locked the door, right?” Atsumu sounds terribly affected, and for good reasons.

He’s breathless, his pupils are blown wide.

Kiyoomi’s breath catches in his throat at the sight and he leans to attack the side of his throat instead of his stupid mouth.

“Of course I didn’t. You’re the one who got us there, you better follow with your ingenious little plan.”

A sharp nip follows and Atsumu winces.

“Fuckin’ liar. As if you’d— _haaw!_ Omi, Jesus! Chill a bit!”

“I’m not chilling Atsumu! You spent the whole afternoon riling me up! In front of everyone! You’re a moron! Be grateful I didn’t ask you to get on your knees in the corridor,” Kiyoomi growls against his neck, licking a mark just under his collar, where no one will see but him if Atsumu is careful enough.

“I knew that shit would get to you!” 

Kiyoomi is so aggravated that he pulls back, glowering.

“I didn’t need your _shit!_ The team was invited to enjoy a private tour of a renowned gallery, you didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, right! As if you were into paintings. You’re a book kind of guy, I merely didja a service! Brought you a few good stories!” Atsumu teases, playing with Kiyoomi’s collar, holding him at a reasonable distance but preventing him from getting away too. 

“I knew learning there were actual fanfics about us on the internet would get to your head, you freak.”

It had been devastating news, when the Black Jackals had learned about these. The uproar in the lockers for two days as Bokuto kept bringing up new terrible pieces fished online, courtesy of Akaashi who was taking is editor job too much at heart. Kiyoomi still couldn’t make his peace with it. Atsumu, on the other hand...

“Come on, Omi! That was fucking hilarious!”

“It’s creepy!” Kiyoomi protests, just as his boyfriend’s hands slide to drag the zipper of his bomber jacket down, revealing the gray v-neck he’s wearing under.

“Damn right, it is! _But_ my scenarios were a lot more interesting than the excerpts the journalist quoted in the press conference!” Atsumu goes on, closing the space between them when his hands settle on Kiyoomi’s belt. "Bokuto's were spicier though."

“Please don’t remind me of them now.”

He wishes he wasn’t begging but he really don’t want to remember that when they're making out in secret. Not when Atsumu attacks Kiyoomi's next zipper while looking at him with that mischievous smirk.

He leans into him, lips ghosting over his cheek.

“Can make you forget them and a few other things if you ask nicely, Omi-kun,” he whispers.

“Get on your knees,” Kiyoomi blurts out, the last of his restraints snapping.

“That is so unromantic!” Atsumu chuckles against his ear, eliciting a terrible shiver. 

“Think of your gay swordsmen to get in the mood, then,” Kiyoomi is quick to out-wit him. “I really don’t know why I’m dating you.”

“You’re so lucky to have me, bastard,” Atsumu slurs, reversing their positions.

Unlike in any fantasy Kiyoomi got from hearing his stupid boyfriend's taunts while they were going over each classical paintings, the motion is sweet, careful.

He lands against the hard surface way more delicately than Atsumu did when Kiyoomi plastered him there, too eager to ravish him.

“Is what I should say,” he still mumbles so he gets the last word in, looking away.

Atsumu would never let him have the last word, though. 

“I fucking love you,” Atsumu says against his lips instead.

And Kiyoomi right about melts on the spot, closing his eyes and moaning softly when he gets kissed passionately.

It doesn’t last, Kiyoomi finds himself chasing Atsumu’s lips when he breaks apart and, indeed, drops on his knees.

Kiyoomi’s eyes shift to the door of the empty office they found while trying to shake everyone off. Atsumu is the story-teller, he found an excuse while Kiyoomi was testing a few doors in the next corridor. The gallery is closed to the public, today, so it didn’t take long before he found an abandoned office and dragged the setter back in there with him.

Atsumu pulls on his pants just enough to give him some relief but Kiyoomi’s heart won’t stop hammering in his chest anyway. The thrill of it is just too much to keep his calm entirely.

“What are you doing?” he can’t help but ask after a few seconds of Atsumu struggling with his own fly and not touching him.

“Give me a sec, I’m about to show you my sword swallowin’ skills,” Atsumu grins as he looks up.

Kiyoomi snorts, banging his head back against the wall.

“I hope you choke on it so I never have to hear your voice again.”

For once Atsumu doesn’t run his mouth, putting it to better use instead, and Kiyoomi would almost regret provoking him when he realizes he has nothing to brace himself against, standing against the wall.

He gets a handful of dyed hair as the next best thing, hoping he doesn’t lose himself enough to be too rough with his lover. Atsumu doesn’t seem to be concerned by that in the least, working down the length of his cock fast, swallowing him a bit more each time he sinks down on him. 

Kiyoomi curses aloud when he completely takes him in a short minute later. Atsumu stills there, breathing hard through his nose, tickling him slightly but Kiyoomi can’t really focus on that sensation when he feels so dizzy from the overwhelming heat that engulfs him whole.

There’s a quiet throaty noise, then Atsumu exhales and pulls back slowly.

Kiyoomi’s stomach stops coiling in anxiety at the thought of someone walking in on them from that moment. He manages to keep his voice down even when Atsumu gets too greedy and gags over his length but that’s about the only thing he’s able to remember while he completely loses it.

Atsumu has always been good at multitasking, and if his fingers weren’t busy already, he’d high-five himself. Right now, though, he’s just content to be able to give his lover the blowjob of his life while preparing himself. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to have noticed what he was up to so far and as long as Atsumu keeps his own moans to a minimal level, it should do the trick. 

It doesn’t get easier as Kiyoomi starts fucking his mouth wantonly. Atsumu just fitted a third finger in, trying to reach deeper despite the terrible angle the kneeling position prompts, when Kiyoomi slams his hips forward a little too eagerly. 

Atsumu chokes and pulls away, falling back on his heels, sputtering and trying to wipe his tears-stained cheeks with his clean hand.

Kiyoomi is already all over him, having snapped out of his trance and apologizing profusely.

“Didn’t think ya were serious with the chokin' thing,” Atsumu croaks out, voice hoarse and raw despite the constant chuckle that shakes his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m just—Wh— _Atsumu.”_

Oh, so he sees what’s happening now.

Kiyoomi’s voice is surprisingly as raw as Atsumu’s as his eyes trail back and forth between the discarded bottle of lube on the floor and Atsumu's slick fingers in his lap.

“Good thing they came up with an alternative to olive oil over the decades, dontcha think?” Atsumu teases, his body shivering under his lover’s intense gaze as he dangles two condom wrappers in the air between them.

Kiyoomi drags Atsumu to his feet in a flash, kissing the air out of him, leaving little room for Atsumu to feel embarrassed by the fact his pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s now butt naked in the middle of someone's office.

That’s really wrong. Shameful. See if he cares!

They still eagerly make their way to the desk, tripping over their feet and pants, stumbling like idiots because they can’t imagine walking the short distance there without ravishing each other. 

It’s pretty typical of them and Kiyoomi can tackle Atsumu’s creativity all he wants, his little fantasies aren’t coming from nowhere. Just yesterday night when Atsumu was trying to fuck Kiyoomi through the bay window of their hotel room was enough to fuel a few good stories about enemy spies in the Great war. 

Kiyoomi hoists Atsumu up the desk, pushing him on his back immediately as he wraps his legs around his waist in the most delicious and familiar routine. Atsumu closes his eyes, nodding slowly to indicate that he’s ready while a smile curls on his lips. He bites them in anticipation, bracing himself with a hand above his head.

Kiyoomi doesn’t need any more than that to snatch the condom wrappers from Atsumu’s hand. He’s slightly shaking as he retrieves them and rolls one down Atsumu’s cock, the other down himself although he’s still slick with saliva. It isn’t perfect nor smooth but he’s too aroused to mind. He braces himself on the desk with a hand near Atsumu’s face, searching for his gaze when his lover opens his eyes again then aligns himself and pushes in carefully when he finds it.

They both bite down a moan, Kiyoomi’s head falling in the crook of Atsumu’s neck.

“I’m not going to last,” he whispers, not trusting his voice.

“Good. Now that we’re here, might as well tell ya. They don’t seem like they really bought my story and I don’t know how much time our sweet teammates can give us before it starts gettin’ suspicious,” Atsumu comes clean.

He sounds smug as hell, and if Kiyoomi wasn’t already inside him and riled up like he is, he’d probably want to stab him like his many fictional counterparts.

The thought is still tempting, but Atsumu rolls his hips just right, fingers playing with the curls at his nape, and Kiyoomi snaps again.

At least, Atsumu won’t last either.

Kiyoomi fucks him through the desk without restraint. He doesn’t even try to tease him mercilessly like he loves to and not just because they’re running out of time.

He just wants him, he wants to feel Atsumu bite into his shoulder to muffle a cry, he wants him to absolutely fall apart.

They both do. Kiyoomi moans his name quietly against his temple, Atsumu predictably leaves a nasty mark under his collarbone when they come not so far apart and not so long after.

There’s no afterglow to bask in, no time to cuddle as they pick their discarded pieces of clothes and Atsumu’s backpack.

Kiyoomi helps him on the way out as Atsumu tries and rolls his shoulders, wincing a little despite the defiant expression on his face.

“You’re alright?” he asks, grabbing him back by the collar to adjust his jacket before they step out of the room for good.

“I mean, as long as I don’t have to perform a nasty serve receive in the next ten minutes, I think I'm good,” Atsumu hums.

He looks around the corridor, bracing his backpack over his shoulder, but Kiyoomi is fast to snatch it away from him. Atsumu frowns, then smiles fondly when Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and starts toward the door at the end of the corridor.

"That's sweet Omi," he croons.

"You're a fool. We didn't have to go all the way, you know," Kiyoomi quietly tells him, not a trace of anger nor regret showing in his voice despite the reproach.

Atsumu blows him a fake kiss that makes his lover scowl.

"We very much needed to. And you weren't gonna—"

"I could have taken it, I did yesterday," Kiyoomi counters before Atsumu can finish.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! But I also knew you’d hate walking home with that sticky gross shit between your legs,” Atsumu explains, lowering his voice as they reach the door and stop.

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue at the blunt phrasing. Atsumu looks awfully pleased with himself.

“Am I supposed to find that endearing?” he asks with a tinge of disdain.

“I guess?” Atsumu gives it a thought, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

Kiyoomi caves.

“I do. You’re the worst. I do find it endearing,” he concedes, grabbing the doorknob.

Atsumu purrs at his side. Kiyoomi can't stop smiling despite their bickering.

“Hey, Atsumu,” he asks before opening it.

“Yeah, Omi?”

For a moment they look at each other in a comfortable silence. Standing close enough to touch if they wanted to, just reveling in the intimacy. There aren't many scenarios Atsumu can come up with that will be romantic enough to match this one. As stupid as it gets when their shared braincell gets stimulated, Kiyoomi does find it endearing. It's a perfect story as it is.

He pushes the door open and “I love you too,” he mouths silently.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed ♥
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Deaddrabble)  
> Find me on [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/DeaddrabbleRobin)


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